CHAPTER NINE: THE BALANCE
The first woe has passed…
But there are two more to come.
—Revelation 9.12
“I’M FEELING BETTER NOW,” Matt said, sitting up in the hospital bed and immediately crying out.
“Yeah, you sound better,” Sully remarked.
Matt Mercurio tried to smile at him and at Chris.
“Thanks for coming, guys. Do you know I can leave tomorrow? I won’t be throwing the ball around for a while.” He tried to smile again.
“It’s a good thing we’re graduating in a few months and that won’t matter.”
“Yeah,” Matt said. He looked distracted. Like he was about to say something. And then he did.
“What all happened? I haven’t heard about what happened. Did a lot of people get... hurt?”
“Hardesty was hurt.”
“Dean Howard got shot in the arm, but he was calm as anything,” Chris threw in.
“Andy Rathko died.”
“Oh,” Matt said.
“Yeah,” Sully told him.
“Who else?”
“Bob Guernik’s really bad off. We thought he would die, but Andy Rathko was it.”
“Dick Rathko’s cousin?” Matt murmured, looking down at the bed.
“Yeah,” Chris said.
None of them said anything for a moment.
“It was supposed to be me,” Matt said, finally. “I was the one that egged him on. I was the one that... did what I did to Dave at Christmas.”
“Matt!” Chris started.
“You can say it’s not true, but that’ll be a lie. You know it was me. I always do stuff like that. I don’t know why. I’m a bully. But this time around.... He shot me. I didn’t even know it was happening until it did. But Andy Rathko didn’t do anything.” Matt was trembling. “He didn’t do… anything. He was a nice guy. He was a good guy, and I’m the reason he’s dead.”
“That’s not true,” Chris said.
“If it’s not true why doesn’t Sully say it’s not true. I killed him.”
“You didn’t kill him,” Sully said, finding his voice. “That isn’t true. Dave killed him—”
“But because of what I did. Andy’s dead because of me. I know it, we all know it. God...” his voice slipped away.
Matt already looked drained when they came in, but now he was ashen and his eyes were vacant. Sully felt like he shouldn’t be watching, so he turned to look at the IV drip instead.
“Guys,” Matt said in a dead voice. “Would you mind going away for a while?”
Sully swallowed. Chris nodded and touched Sully’s arm pulling him out with him.
They were all drinking beer, Tina Reardon, who was slipping her purse over her shoulder had only had one. She said, “Does this take care of it all? Are we supposed to be the entire parent and teacher association?”
Sidney Darrow and Keisha were putting on their coats, and Joel was coming out of the kitchen. They were in Mark’s house, and he was standing beside Rick.
“You’re the trial PTA,” Rick said. When his arm moved stiffly, Sidney remembered that he had been shot.
“Well,” Tina shrugged.
“And you’ve told me what I needed to know.”
“That Riley boy’s going to get what’s coming to him,” Tina said. “He almost shot my Sullivan. Not that I haven’t had a mind to shoot Sully a few times in the last few years, but still... That’s all he gets. He gets to scare us once, but I’m not going to have him turn Saint Vitus into some public school with safety checks and... Saint Vitus is a safe place. Despite everything.”
“I just wanted to hear other people say that,” Rick said. “Because I don’t want to turn it into a jail.”
“One gun pulled in ninety years,” Joel said. “I think that’s a good enough record. If the kids think they’re at a jail...”
“They’ll start acting like criminals,” Sidney said.
“Exactly.”
“Well, that settles it,” Rick said rubbing his hands together and then wincing.
“Sort of,” he said.
Tina was the first out the door saying, “Let’s just hope the rest of the parents and the staff agree.”
She was already out the door, and Sidney and Keisha were leaving with her when she turned around and said, “You know what, Howard?”
“Hum?” Rick Howard raised an eyebrow.
“You’re all right.” She winked at him, and was gone in the night.
“All right,” Sidney said. “That’s high praise from Tina Reardon.”
And then he and Keisha were gone. Joel was last. He looked from Mark to Rick and said,
“It’s a good thing you guys patched your quarrel up. We missed having Rick around. Night, guys.”
“Night, Joel,” Mark sounded a little too light in his own ears as he waved. “Say hi to Shelley.”
“Will do.”
And then there was just Rick and Mark.
“What?” Rick said.
“What do you mean, what?”
Rick cocked his head and frowned.
“You’ve been jumpy all night,” Rick told him.
Mark sighed, and then he said, “It’s just…” and stopped.
He went to the window, shut the blinds, and then looked at the door, which didn’t look back, and came back to Rick.
“It’s just,” he said with a heavy sigh, “with all that’s been going on. All the death, all the killing. I just feel like life is short and we have to make decisions. Chris won’t be home tonight. He’s at Tina’s with Sully. I think you could stay with me, and we could see what happens.”
“Mark Powers!” it sounded like he was mocking, but Rick Howard was genuinely shocked. “Are you trying to start something tonight?”
“A little something,” Mark said, innocently. “Now, look, I don’t know how much I can do, or want to do or where it’s going to stop, but tonight I feel ready.”
Rick still looked shocked.
“Would you get that look off your face,” Mark said.
“Look?”
“You look like I just turned into a tarantula. I thought this was what you wanted.”
“But is it what you want?”
“Yes,” Mark said. “I thought I just said it was.”
Rick held Mark’s face in his hands. He just kept looking at Mark and when he raised his hand to touch his cheek he winced.
“The wound.”
“Yes,” Rick said, his face still looking pained.
“Oh,” Mark said. “Well, then, we don’t have to do this... anything... I mean.”
Rick touched his cheek with the other hand. He caught Mark’s wrist in it, firmly.
“We’ll just be very careful,” he told Mark. “And very slow.”
“I’m glad that’s over,” Mason said, coming into the house. “I enjoyed Andy in life. I did not want to see him in death.”
“Wasn’t that awful? The casket?” said Tommy coming in after Balliol.
“It just looked tacky,” Balliol told them. “It looked like a big silver jewelry box. Hate the whole funeral business. I hate how it’s done. I hate the idea of filling up people with stuff and—”
“Oh,” Mason put out a hand. “Let’s not talk about that.”
“But I wish they just burned you on Mars Field like in ancient Rome.”
“Or in Star Wars?”
They looked at Tommy.
“They did do it that way in Star Wars,” he justified himself. “At the end of the first one.”
“You mean the real first one or Episode One, which was really the fourth one?”
“Actually the first one really was Episode Four,” Tommy said.
Balliol looked at both of them.
“But I mean Episode One, the one that they made the fourth, but is first in sequence.”
“Actually it feels like fourth in sequence. You just can’t do that. George Lucas is wrong.”
“The two of you,” Balliol said. “Display an amazing ability to go far a field from topic.”
“When the topic is Andy Rathko in a casket, how can you not?” Addison said.
“God, it was so awful. Andy wasn’t like that. Andy was alive and fun and... I think the funeral was the biggest tragedy of all.”
“Balliol, I want to show you something,” Mason said.
“Does just Balliol get to see it, or is it for everyone?”
“It’s the three headed monster I did the other day, with the story attached.”
“Oh,” Addison said.
“Well, don’t sound so sour about it.”
“Is it that bad?” Balliol said.
“No, but it’s a long story. And kind of pointless.”
“Everything you make has a story?” Balliol said.
“Yes.”
“And all the stories are long?”
“But none of them are pointless,” Mason said. “Come on.”
Sully said: “It’s a surprise. I never expected that Balliol would hit it off with Mason. I never really thought of that.”
“Really?” Addison raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, it’s just they have nothing in common.”
“They have more in common than you have with Chris Powers,” Addison said. “And they’re both Black.”
“You think that matters?”
Addison looked at Sullivan Reardon in amazement. “You think it doesn’t?”
“Well, I,” Sully shrugged. “I just never thought that way. I mean...”
“Look. If you were the only white person you knew, wouldn’t you want to know other white people?”
“I haven’t really been that fond of other white people to tell you the truth,” Sully said.
“Well,” Addison thought about that. “I’m not hyped on most other white people either. Come to think of it. I don’t really like most of the Black people we go to school with. But what I’m saying is, if you were the only one of whatever you knew, you’d want to know another one.”
“There’re other Black people at Saint Vitus.”
“There are no other Balliols at Saint Vitus,” Addison said. “And there are certainly no other Masons. You see what I’m saying?”
Sully saw, though he felt stupid for not seeing it before.
“My God, Mason!” Balliol shouted coming back down the hall.
“I wasn’t finished.”
“See,” Addison interrupted them, “Wasn’t that story pointless?”
Balliol rolled his eyes, “Jesus, yes!”
“You shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Tommy said automatically, coming out of the kitchen with a peanut butter sandwich.
“Do you know something?” Mason said.
“Hum?” Addison looked at him.
Mason looked around at them.
“Every single person in this living room is a freak.”
Matt Mercurio came back to school a few days after everyone else did. Balliol saw him, remembered he’d been shot and then thought of Andy Rathko. That hurt, remembering Andy. He’d miss him, and what was worse, he hadn’t moved away, he wasn’t at another school. He was dead. He wouldn’t have a summer vacation. He wouldn’t have senior year. The damn senior steps—he’d never get those either.
Did it matter? Balliol admitted he was not a fan of life a great deal of the time, and he’d been told since childhood that heaven was better. Everyone was going. By this logic Andy was in a better place, and if he was in a better place then it was only selfishness that made them sad. That’s what one of those nuns—another reason he could never be a Catholic—had once said. But no, no, Balliol could not shake the feeling that it wasn’t exactly, true. That heaven wasn’t a thing to be rushed. It was something to have arrived at once you’d had a very fully life. It made him wonder. He had to ponder. He hadn’t had that growing up where someone sat him down and told him what was and what wasn’t. Most Anglicans didn’t. He’d been taught that the Bible was true, but he’d have to find out on his own what that truth was. And did it say anywhere in the Good Book that—
“Ouch!”
Balliol was knocked back into his locker and all his books crashed to the floor.
It was Matt Mercurio. He stood there, shaking his head, looking confused and half asleep.
“I’m sorry,” his voice was quiet.
Balliol was confused too. Matt Mercurio didn’t believe in sorry.
“Let me help you,” Matt urged, his voice soft. He winced when he reached for a book, and Balliol said, “That’s not necessary. You’ve got yourself a bad arm and—Matt—”
“What?” Matt looked at him, licking his lips.
“I said, don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.”
“I didn’t mean it,” Matt said.
Balliol looked at him cautiously. “I know,” he said. “I believe you.”
Matt Mercurio nodded and then handed Balliol the last book on the floor.
“I’m going to class now,” Balliol said, because Matt was still standing there.
“All right,” Matt told him. And then he remembered he was heading somewhere too and went down the hall. Balliol watched him, head
down bag over his shoulder, looking only half awake.
“Hey, Matt,” Balliol heard Sully say, but Matt just kept walking and then, finally, as if he’d heard something, turned around and looked for the speaker. After that he was lost in the crowd of students.
Mason had just arrived at his locker and Balliol lifted a finger before he went down the hall to meet Sully.
“What the hell happened to Matt Mercurio?” Balliol said.
“He got shot,” Sully said flatly.
Balliol cocked his head and said, “Our restored friendship doesn’t give you a license to be a smart ass.”
Mason had joined them by now, and Sully said, “He thinks it’s his fault that Andy...”
“Is dead,” Balliol said.
“Yeah,” Sully said. “He thinks the whole thing is his fault.”
“That’s crazy,” Mason began.
“Not really,” Balliol said.
They both looked at him.
“Whenever these things happen on TV, people always say ‘What made so and so do it?’ But we know what made Dave Riley do it. I was there when Matt started beating him up and calling him shit.”
“But you can’t put the whole blame on him,” Sully said. “We’re responsible for what we do.”
“Dave Riley was a walking time bomb,” Mason said. “If it hadn’t been that first day and because of what Mercurio said, it would have been some other time.”
“Probably,” Balliol agreed. “Maybe. But you’re both willing to say that Mercurio is partially to blame?”
“Who do you think you are?”
The new voice sounded before Balliol could register that Sully’s gaze had shifted from him to behind him, before Balliol turned around and saw Chris Powers standing there angry.
“I don’t know what you see in him, Sully,” Chris went on. “Don’t you start, anything, Balliol.”
“I’m not the one who incited the school kook to get a gun, shoot half your friends and kill one of mine.”
“You’re a shit!” Chris went on. Mason touched Balliol’s shoulder to make him shut up before Chris did something. Chris was nice, he was squeaky clean, he was a bit hoaky, but he was strong, and he was turning red.
“No,” said Balliol. “I’m honest.”
He turned his back on the dangerous boy and told Sully, “I’ll see you later, all right?”
Sully nodded, and then watched Chris, angry, sputtering, watching Balliol go down the hall.
“One of these days...” Chris began.
Sully didn’t know what to say as he watched Mason and Balliol going down the hall. After seeing Balliol and Matt that day before Christmas, after seeing Mason take the gun from Dave Riley’s hand, after seeing the way Balliol had handled himself just now, even though Balliol was slight and rich, cool and manicured and Chris was full of muscle and indignation, Sully was sure that if one of these days they went two to two, one of these days Chris would be the one to lose.
Lunch was distinctly unenjoyable. Sully kept looking three tables away where Balliol and Mason, Tommy and Addison and Seth were sitting. Where Andy Rathko’s friends were sitting. Yeah, that had been his table. They were all having a good time. It seemed so wrong, their friend was gone, but they were having a good time and here, at this table they were having a very different time. Athletes were like this. You couldn’t be sardonic and witty and play football. You couldn’t be a chronic rulebreaker and be on a team.
“You almost got in a fight with Balliol today,” Mercurio said.
“What?” Chris said, finishing off his milk.
“I saw it on my way to class,” Matt’s voice was tired, his face was still drawn. “Why’d you do that?”
“He said stuff,” Chris said. “You know he always says stuff.”
“Yeah, well, people have a right to say stuff. It’s America. I say stuff, you say stuff. Stuff stuff.”
Chris scowled and put a chip in his mouth.
“Whaddit he say?”
“You really shouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried about it. I just want to know what he said.”
“Look, Let’s not discuss it.”
“Was it about me?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It was about me,” Matt said, sipping the last of his juice box.
“He didn’t start it,” Sully felt the need to defend his friend. “He just made a comment.”
“One of you better tell me,” Matt said.
Sully sighed. He looked at Chris. Chris made a motion and Sully said, “I just... He asked what was wrong with you? He noticed you were bad off. So I told him you... weren’t yourself and all. And he just said something...” Sully tried to make it funny. God he wished he was with Balliol right now. “He said something sort of... Balliolesque!”
“He said it was your fault that Andy died!” Chris snapped.